37. Sutton

37

SUTTON

The thermometer beeped, and I pulled it away from Luca’s forehead. 101.7 degrees. I winced. I needed to get some Tylenol in him, but that would be difficult when he’d already thrown up three times in a row.

Cope hovered behind me, peering over my shoulder. “Shit. Should we take him to the emergency room? That’s high.”

His concern had everything in me warming. And, God, it was nice to have someone with me. Someone who could make a run to the store or the pharmacy. For the first time in too long, I didn’t feel quite so alone.

“He’ll be okay. I just need to get some Tylenol in him, but we need his nausea to get better first,” I said.

“I might be able to help.” Arden’s voice came from the doorway. She’d come over to take charge of Gretzky, her massive dog, Brutus, very unsure how he felt about his new cousin. She lifted a glass jar with what almost looked like tiny pieces of bark. “Sassafras tea. My mom always made it for me when I was throwing up. It helps nausea better than any medicine. ”

It was the first time I’d heard Arden mention her mother—or family of any sort, for that matter. I didn’t know much about her history, family or otherwise, just that she’d come to live with the Colsons when she was twelve.

I pushed up from the bed and crossed to her. “I’ve heard about this and meant to try it.”

She sent me a gentle smile, but her gaze quickly moved to Luca in the bed, worry filling her eyes. “If this doesn’t help, we can call Dr. Avery. He’ll make a house call.”

“Maybe we should call him now,” Cope cut in.

“Let’s try this first,” I said. “I don’t want to make him come all the way out here for a simple stomach flu.”

Luca twisted in the sheets, waking fitfully. “Mommy?”

God, it had been so long since he’d used that term, and it was like a knife to the gut. I hurried over to the bed, sinking back onto the mattress. “I’m right here, baby.” I set the jar on the nightstand and picked up the washcloth from the bowl of ice water. Wringing it out, I pressed it to his forehead.

“Hurts,” he croaked.

“Where?” I asked, a little more worry niggling at me.

“Everywhere.”

Cope snagged the tea from the nightstand. “I’ll get this stupid bark tea brewed, but if it doesn’t work, I’m calling Dr. Avery.” With that, he stormed out of the room.

“Don’t take it personally,” Arden said as she moved toward the bed. “Cope doesn’t do well when the people he loves are hurting.”

That word— loves —had my heart beating a little faster as I moved the washcloth to Luca’s cheek. “I get it. I hate when Luca’s sick.”

“I hate it, too,” Luca mumbled and then drifted back into that restless sleep.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Arden whispered. “It’s like your heart is walking around outside your body.”

I put the washcloth back into the ice water. “There have been more than a few days where it’s been heart attack inducing.”

Arden’s gaze moved from Luca to me. “He’s lucky to have you. ”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You are.” Steel bled into Arden’s voice. “Not everyone puts their kid before themselves. You do.” With that, she turned on her heel and left.

I couldn’t help but wonder about Arden’s story.

A hand gently landed on my shoulder, and my eyes jerked open. “Wha?—?”

“It’s just me,” Cope said.

I blinked against the dim light in Luca’s room. The small clock on his nightstand read 3:15 in the morning. I stood from the overstuffed chair and crossed to the bed to grab the thermometer. Luca’s cheeks were still pink but not that angry red color anymore. I hoped that meant the fever had gone down.

After one more puking session, we managed to get some Tylenol in him. The thermometer beeped. 100.5 degrees. Better.

“That’s good, right?” Cope asked, the concern still clear in his voice.

I nodded, my eyes burning. “It’s good. We just have to stay on top of the meds now. He can take more in two hours.”

“Then you can get a little sleep.” Cope took my hand to lead me out of the room, but I shook my head.

“No. I want to stay here.”

“Sutton.” Cope pinned me with an I-mean-business stare. “You won’t be any use to Luca if you’re wrecked. You’re still recovering from your injuries.”

“I’m not. I?—”

“You may feel better, but your body’s not 100 percent,” Cope argued.

I had to admit that I felt a little loopy. Between the long day at the bakery, the run-in with Evelyn, the dog, and Luca’s tour du barfing, I was exhausted. “All right,” I muttered, turning back to Cope. “But I need to set an alarm to give Luca his next dose.”

Cope frowned at me, his eyes zeroing in on my face. “Give me that thermometer.”

“Why?”

He snatched it from my hand, pointed it at my forehead, and pressed the button.

“Cope, I’m fine.”

“You’re flushed,” he clipped. A second later, the thermometer beeped. “One hundred and one. Into bed with you.”

“It has to be wrong. I—” I turned to grab the thermometer back, and a wave of dizziness hit me. Fast on its heels was the overwhelming nausea. “Uh-oh.” I bolted for the bathroom.